Wyoming Elk Hunt

[HooknHorns]

Great story so far! In your guys experience, do Bulls alway come in downwind of wallows or do they come in on the trails no matter which way the wind is going?

[Sifty]

Is it weird that I want the next part of the story to come, but know that's one day closer to the story being over?

[Scoot]

Here ya go, Sifty!

Day 4

We headed down to the quarters from Rod’s bull right at sun up. We got there and all was quiet and fortunately, the meat was untouched. We quickly went to work deboning the quarters, getting the meat bagged, and loading our packs.

By mid-morning we had all of the meat from Rod’s bull back at camp and on ice. We cleaned up a bit, had some grub, then Jon and I headed for the hills while Rod stayed at camp and went to work really carefully cleaning up his meat and getting it ready for the trip home. Jon decided to head to Self-pity and I had a plan to go to the way down wallow. Little did we know what the day had in store for each of us at that point.

I got down to the way down wallow and all was quiet. This was the area I had shot my last WY bull. On the way down I took one of many tumbles this trip.

To paraphrase John Wayne: life is tough, but it’s especially tough when you’re stupid. I was traveling through rough terrain and trying to rush my way through, rather than taking my time and being careful. Dumb.

Not long after I took the tumble I found this guy. Anyone know what this is?

The way down wallow wasn’t very impressive in terms of recent use, but it was located in such a great area that I figured it was worth it to sit there and wait for a bugle to chase. However, all was quiet through the end of the morning and into the afternoon. I found this guy, who played “cat and mouse” with me for a couple hours.

Eventually he got more comfortable and we became close friends.

It was a boring sit at the wallow with little going on. I didn’t take all of the pics on this sit below, but we do tend to take a lot of pictures while killing time at wallows.

[Scoot]

At about 3:00 PM I hear some sticks break in the woods below me. I glassed and looked with my naked eye for at least half-an-hour, but never could see anything. Eventually there was more noise coming from the same area and I was convinced that there was an elk down there. I watched and waited, but nothing materialized. Finally, another 30 minutes later I spotted a tree moving. I glassed and looked carefully, trying to pick out the tan hide of an elk through my binocs. Soon, this gal made her way towards me.

Boo! I had gotten all excited and worked up over a stinkin’ cow! Then a couple of her friends joined her and I had a herd working into my area. This, I decided, was a definitely sign from the elk gods! I packed up my stuff and decided to leave.

But where to go? After weighing my options I decided to head into uncharted lands (at least by anyone in our crew). I went down the hill, crossed a small creek, and worked my way up the West side of “da hump”. I first had to cross this sage flat area.

“Da hump” is a larger land feature that is mostly private land, but part of the West end of it is public land. I’d never been over this way before and it was fun to see the back side of “da hump” and the lands West of it. By 5:15 I had found my way onto a small bench that slowly worked its way around and slightly up the back side of “da hump”.

I heard a bugle further ahead and immediately redirected and headed towards it, even though it was a fairly long ways away. After walking towards the bugle for 15 minutes I had covered a fair bit of ground- the going was easy and the rise was very gradual here. I looked ahead and I could see a sharp cliff that I knew fell immediately down to the private land below. I was sure that if I could get to the edge of that I’d get to see the monarch that had screamed the wicked bugle earlier. I pulled my gps out as I approached the cliff. “Uh-ho, end of the road”, popped into my head as I saw that the public land ended about 60 yards short of the cliff. I knew I couldn’t hunt the bull down there, but I really just wanted to see him so I could get some good pictures of him. “It’s only 60 yards, I’m not going to hunt. I just want a picture”, was in my head next. But, I didn’t approach, in spite of the fact that I really wanted to get a picture of what I was sure was a huge bull. I backed off the boundary line and looked at my gps, trying to figure out if there was a way I could get to the edge of the cliff so I could take some pictures. I soon realized it was impossible.

Dejected, I turned to head back from where I came. Just as I took my first step back a shrieking bugle came from up the step/bench further up “da hump”. I snapped my head around in time to see a HUGE herd bull working his harem of cows my direction. He was working hard to get them to all come towards me, but they were headed right at me. They were about 150-200 yards away and coming pretty quickly. I saw a great trail coming down the 80 yard wide step just to my right. I got behind some pine trees and waited. I lost sight of the herd when they went in a little dip that was between them and me. I waited. “Shouldn’t they be here by now?” Hmmm… Suddenly the silence was broken by the bull again screaming at his cows, this time much closer than the last. I ranged everything in sight, but I was sure they’d come down the trail that was just 18 yards away.

After waiting another couple minutes I started to see cows coming down the step and towards me. They came single file. Although they were on a second trail, they were only going to pass me by at about 35 yards. I watched as they approached from behind a large cluster of pines.

Just as the lead cow was about to clear into my 30 yard wide shooting lane she hit the skids. I instantly felt the breeze going straight up the hill and generally towards the elk. She stood there for about two seconds, then all hell broke loose! There were cows running all over the place and the jig was up! However, given what had happened, I had one more trick up my sleeve: I ran right up to where the lead cow had locked up and screamed a huge bugle. I looked through the trees and spotted the herd bull, about 100 yards up the step. As soon as I finished my bugle he fired back with a bugle of his own. Before he could finish his bugle, I screamed another over the top of him. That was it- he wouldn’t stand for it. He took off on a dead sprint right for me. He was coming 100 miles per hour when my scent hit him right in the face at about 70 yards out. He locked up instantly, completely hitting the skids, turned a 180, and took off just as fast as he had come in. Dang it! I just needed the swirling winds to cooperate for 20 seconds. Heck, ten seconds would have probably cut it given how fast he was coming at me. It was a fun, memorable experience and he was one heck of a memorable bull. He was a huge framed 6x6 with great fronts, huge swords, and whale tails that didn’t seem to quit. No point in giving his rack some guestimated number of inches, but he was really, really big.

I saw this gal on my otherwise uneventful trek back to camp.

Jon had a different kind of day, but one that also included a monster bull. Jon got down to Self-pity at about 11:00. All was quiet until 1:30. A big, deep bugle broke the silence from Jon’s right and from the lower, private land. Two minutes later a 6x7 came into view. He was plowing through the underbrush and bulled his way towards the bottom wallow. That wallow is 30-35 yards from where Jon was seated. It’s not wide open, but there are at least a couple decent shooting lanes to it. The bull walked right at both the wallow and Jon. About 30 yards short of the bottom wallow the bull stopped. He was just behind the large stump of a fallen tree, but Jon could see him clearly from the bottom of his body line up. Suddenly the bull dropped and splatted into a previously unseen wallow. The bull proceeded to kick mud with his hooves, throw mud with his hooves, and roll around in the mud wildly. At one point the bull flopped down with his head pointed right up the hill at Jon, looking in his general direction. He just laid there without moving for 30 seconds, hugely enjoying his mud bath.

Jon, on the other hand, was freaking out! “Do I get down from the stand and try sneak in on him? Do I wait here and hope he comes past me when he leaves the wallow? Most of the bulls come by here, regardless of which wallow they splash around in, will this one? What the heck should I do?” I’m sure we would have all been asking these same questions if we were in his shoes! After about five minutes of slopping around in the mud the bull got up and proceeded to hoist downed aspen tree up and down with his antlers. Jon said the tree was at least 20’ long and it was at least 8” in diameter! The bull threw it up and dropped it down like it was a broom stick. He was impressive- according to Jon this bull was “much, much bigger” than the 340” bull he shot on the same wallow in 2007. Then just as quickly as he had come into Jon’s life, he turned and walked right back out of it the way he’d come in. Jon didn’t get to fling an arrow, but what an impressive show he also got to watch that day.

[spivak]

Can only say, as others have, that your stories are great. I like the additional photos of the land and other creatures as well. The bird is some kind of nightjar. Looking at range maps it is either a Common Nighthawk or Common Poorwill.

[Boar]

Boy im on pins and needlesscott, like watching sons of anarchy, and waiting for next tuesday. Cantnait cant wait.!!!!

[Scoot]

Here are a couple pics to show you just a little more about our hunt and accommodations. Here is the tent we called home for the trip. It may not look like a big deal, but man was it cushy, comfy, and nice in there! Three of us fit perfectly in it, with cots, sleeping bags, clothes, and plenty of room to move around.

This old beat up Coleman stove may not look like much, but we made some great meals on it. It was a welcome replacement for our tiny stoves that we only boiled water on the past two years. We made sloppy joes, stew, prime rib, brats, burgers, prime rib, and most importantly elk tenderloin in it!

[Boar]

ELK TENDERLOIN!!AAWWWWWWW Your kidding me. Awsome!!!!!

[Scoot]

Boar, I forgot- we had muley tenderloin too!

[NoWiser]

Sure seems like Scoots writing makes it sound easy!

Some people are jerks like that!!

Elk hunting is hard. Really hard. I'm totally envious of those that can make it "look" easy, because, it isn't!

Great story, Scoot. I'm thoroughly enjoying it. I hope you end up with "Elkzilla" before it is over!

[Scoot]

Elk hunting is hard. Really hard.

Amen Jim! I'm very confident you'll never hear me say otherwise. One piece of elk hunting that is often hugely under-emphasized is knowing the area you're hunting. This was our third time in this area and we're getting to know it better each time. This is a huge deal. You've been to two unknown areas (to you) and that puts you behind the eight ball right away. I bet if you went back to either of the areas you hunted next year you'd be a lot more informed and you'd do things differently. That would up your odds hugely. So, my suggestion to you is that you draw the NM tag again next year!

Sometimes you can find a hidden gem in an area and it can become a "go to spot" for you. We've got a number of spots in this area we feel like we can consistently get into elk at, but above all of them is the Self-pity wallow. That spot has been really great to us. As you will see in the post below, it continues to be good to us!

[Scoot]

Day 5

Jon and I headed West while Rod cleaned up camp and got ready to head home. The plan had been to have my parents come out to camp for a couple days and nights and Rod would head home with them to be able to see his son’s football game on Friday night. However, my dad wasn’t handling the elevation very well and thought he’d better not come up to the elevation camp was at, which was another 3000 or more feet up from where he had been. I would run Rod to the nearest town and drop him off with my parents after our morning outing. We were bummed Mom and Dad wouldn’t make it, but understood completely.

Jon and I got to our planned lookout and glassed West, East, and North. Here’s the sun coming up behind a ridge that morning.

As you can see by how Jon looks in the pic below, he (and definitely me too) struggled to wake up a bit this morning.

We couldn’t stay sleepy for long- below us to the North there was a serious rut fest going on the private land. The bulls where screaming their fool heads off, with one huge, nasty bull fending off who knows how many other bulls. We easily heard over 1000 bugles from down there and for much of the morning the air was constantly filled with one, two, or many bugles at the same time. Soon Jon said, “There are two elk sparring.” Before I could get my binocs up I heard the clash of antlers. I could first only see one elk.

Soon I could see the other- he was mostly obscured by a tree in the first picture.

The two 6x6s pushed and battled across the opening for several minutes. We had at least a 20 minute decent and climb to get to where the bulls were sparring. We dove in and tried to find them. In short, we got to within a couple hundred yards of one of the bulls, but we couldn’t close the distance. One went quiet and the other very occasionally returned our calls. He just wasn’t cooperating with our calling and wouldn’t keep talking enough on his own for us to pinpoint his location. Before long we headed back to camp.

Soon Jon was on his way to Self-pity and I was flying to town as fast as I could with Rod. My plan was to “haul the mail” in hopes of getting some evening hunting in that evening. Two hours to town, a quick drop off, refueling, and two hours back- Hugs and kisses with my parents, an inappropriately short visit (they understood why I was so brief, but I sure felt rude being so quick), and I was off as fast as I could be to camp. I don’t want to incriminate myself, but I may have slightly exceeded the speed limit on the paved roads on the way back! Once I screamed into camp I quickly got ready and decided I’d join Jon at Self-pity and we’d sit with two of us in an effort to cover the entire set of wallows better.

Before that, a couple of parting pics of Rod. We had a fun time hunting after Rod left, but it wasn’t the same without him at camp.

[Scoot]

I slinked in to the wallows from above and quietly talked with Jon. He had gotten to Self-pity at about noon. Half-an-hour later a smaller 4x5 came in down the hill from Jon. He didn’t appear to be headed up towards Jon at the top wallow, but Jon saw an opening. He ranged the bull at 43 yards. The bull wasn’t in a spot Jon planned to shoot previously, but the lane looked clear and he decided to take the shot. The bull stood unaware and broadside as Jon drew his bow. He anchored, settled the pin, and dropped the string. The shot looked good at first, but soon redirected off an unseen branch and sailed harmlessly over the back of the bull, at least 10 feet above him. The bull bolted out of there, never to be seen by Jon again.

All had been quiet until I showed up, besides a few random bugles from below. We whispered a plan about where I should sit and together decided I’d sit about 40 yards to Jon’s right and a little below him down the hillside. I grabbed my bow and started side-hilling my way over to my agreed upon location. Half way there I stepped a few yards up the hill to take a potty break before I got settled in at my spot. Here’s where I’ll give you two versions of the same story.

My version is this: I took my pit stop, grabbed my pack and bow, then headed down and across the hillside. I climbed up on some blown down trees and tight-roped my way across, spanning almost 20 feet while off the ground by several feet. I went quietly and carefully with the thought of “Jon’s been here for way too long for me to make a bunch of noise and screw something up for him.” I reached the end of the log and stepped down onto the ground. When I looked back at Jon I immediately knew something was going on- he was locked in and looked as twitchy as a bird dog on point. He was intensely staring straight downhill; the way he was looking I knew he was either trying to play a trick on me or there was a bull below him. I looked down the hill and couldn’t see a thing. I saw Jon lift his rangefinder and range a distance. “Holy cow, he’s not joking here!”, I thought. I leaned to my right and from behind a tree I could see a bull, dripping from head to hoof in wet mud. He was standing in the open and the wet mud made him glisten in the sun, giving him a surreal, almost magical look. It was an amazing sight that is still vividly in my mind’s eye as I write this. I leaned back, knocked an arrow, and hooked my release on my D loop in case I got a 2nd shot at this bull. I saw Jon start to draw, hesitate for a half-second, then draw his bow and anchor.

Here’s Jon’s version of the happenings: Scott headed over to his spot and stopped to take a leak. I looked down the hill and somehow a bull had managed to sneak in to about 50 yards and he was closing the distance! I looked back at Scott and he was zipping up his pants with no clue in the world what was happening. I tried to quickly and quietly hiss his name to him, but he didn’t hear it. I didn’t dare say it louder. Scott got his pack on and headed across some logs. “Are you kidding me? Scott, c’mon man!!! Look my way, please!” I screamed in my head! I decided there was nothing I could do about Scott at that point and was going to let it play out however it was going to. I ranged the bull, drew as his head got behind a tree, and waited.

The bull stood in one spot for about ten or 15 seconds. He surveyed the wallows ahead and took two steps forward. On the second step, Jon’s arrow was in flight. I heard the whack of the hit and saw the bull wheel and sprint downhill immediately. I peered through the trees in hopes of finding the bull, but couldn’t see anything through the thick underbrush that separated the bull from me. I looked back at Jon and watched him watch the bull retreat. The bull made it about 40 yard and stopped for a second. Jon could see blood pouring out of the exit hole. The bull’s back legs got wobbly, he tried to run, but quickly hit the ground. I thought I saw the flash of antlers through the trees when this happened. I looked back at Jon and he turned to me with a look of excited disbelief. He started fist pumping so hard he nearly tipped the tree stand out of the tree!

Although there was a great blood trail, there was no need to follow it.

We could see the bull down the hill and we took our pictures and got to work. By the way, if you’re going to shoot an elk, the pic below shows where/how to do it. You can see the entrance hole and the exit came out several inches lower and tucked up just behind the leg bone.

We got to camp late that night and crashed.

[Fishalittle]

Awesome!! Amazing what can happen just a little ways away from you when in the timber without even a clue. I wonder how many elk we walk bye in a season without even knowing it? Good thing you didn't fall off the log or make too much noise!

[DonBo]

Oh man, 5 days and two bulls down? Excellent. WTG Jon! Where's Rod to help with the pack job???

[nofishfisherman]

Leave it to an elk to literally catch a guy with his pants down.

[Scoot]

Where's Rod to help with the pack job???

DonBo- trust me when I say we were asking the same question!

[pumper317]

Awesome story! Pretty cool you got yourself put back together in time to see it all unfold. Can't wait to hear how the story unfolds.

[guntar]

Here’s Jon’s version of the happenings: Scott headed over to his spot and stopped to take a leak. I looked down the hill and somehow a bull had managed to sneak in to about 50 yards and he was closing the distance! I looked back at Scott and he was zipping up his pants with no clue in the world what was happening. I tried to quickly and quietly hiss his name to him, but he didn’t hear it. I didn’t dare say it louder. Scott got his pack on and headed across some logs. “Are you kidding me? Scott, c’mon man!!! Look my way, please!” I screamed in my head! I decided there was nothing I could do about Scott at that point and was going to let it play out however it was going to. I ranged the bull, drew as his head got behind a tree, and waited.

This was very close to my thoughts, however there is no way I could put my actual thoughts on this forum. Scott is a great friend of mine, one of my favorite people to hunt/fish with, but it is a good thing I couldn't reach out and strangle him at that instant because I probably would have!! The best part is that it worked out AND you got to witness the events. Thanks for the great recap Scott! I enjoy the heck out of reliving this story and will remember this trip forever.

[HooknHorns]

Oh man that's a classic, I can't believe it actually worked out the way it did.

[triggertrav]

Great stuff Scoot! Hope the saga continues as it began.....

[BlackArrow1]

Yep. Gunnar seems to be some good luck. Jon seems to always be on the game. Great story. You guys really do the work. Congrats. Glad Jon's better at shooting elk than he is at catching eyes .

[Scoot]

Glad Jon's better at shooting elk than he is at catching eyes .

Blackarrow, you sure seem to know Jon well! He does struggle with walleyes, but that dude can catch the heck out of rock bass!!!

[Scoot]

Day 6

The next morning we took the second (and bigger) load of meat back to camp, cleaned up a bit, then after some lunch we headed right back to Self-pity. It had been so good down there we just had to go back! At first I climbed back into the stand and sat there for a bit.

However, I couldn’t get that huge 6x7 out of my mind and I wanted to sit closer to that bottom wallow. We relocated down the hill and to the right in an effort to cover all of the wallows a little better. From here we could get a shot at all of the wallows, including the recently discovered bottom one. Here’s what it looked like from our new position.

Here’s the wallow just above that.

We also opened up a little better shooting lane for a bull that might come in from the West.

Here’s my view as I looked down the hill and a little to my right.

Just when we got there a storm came through and messed up the thermals for a while . During the time the wind was going downhill we had a bull come in, bugle his intentions to come to the wallow, then he disappeared when (we believe) he smelled us. An hour later a bull bugled from above us and to our left. He moved down to the bottom of the park below us and proceeded to chuckle over and over. Every minute, few minutes, or ten minutes the bull would chuckle on his own. He also replied to every other bugle he heard with chuckles. He was only 150-200 yards from us. We hoped he’d come in to the wallow.

While we waited my “guide” took notes in his journal and enjoyed the show.

I did what I usually do while hunting and took a lot of pictures.

While waiting we also at our standard lunch: bagels with peanut butter, honey, and bacon. They are commonly referred to by the online backapack hunting community as b-hole sandwiches (it doesn’t take too much imagination to figure out what the “b” stands for and why they have this nickname if you look at the picture. My brother, however, dubbed them “sphincter buns”, and that name has stuck with us.

[Scoot]

During this time of waiting and listening to the chuckler and a few other distant bulls I sat and wondered if I’d fill my tag. I’m not a “tag nazi”, but I have to admit that after last year’s hunt I wanted to punch my tag more than usual. I also will readily admit that I didn’t want to be the only one on the hunt who didn’t shoot an elk. I wondered, sometimes aloud, if this would be the case this trip. On one hand I had my chance during the awesome interaction with the big six point bull to the East of our usual hunting area. Not only did I get well within bow range of this bull, but Jon had aggressively bugled our way into range, which is always the most fun for me. With that, the trip became an instant success. On top of that I got to play with a bunch of elk and I loved every minute of it. The trip was a great one regardless of whether or not I punched my tag. Going 2/3 might sound really great, but when you’re the remaining 1 in that fraction, it’s a lot less appealing! We had the remainder of Wed, Thurs, Fri, and some of Sat for me to notch my tag. I didn’t have a great feeling about it, but I knew we’d have fun trying.

Soon another bull began bugling from up the draw to our left. Not long later several other bulls started bugling directly below us. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore- we decided to do a call and stalk attempt on the chuckling bull. In short, the attempt was failed and I couldn’t locate the chuckling bull. I went back up by the wallows with Jon and we waited. Here are a couple pics Jon took of my failed attempt to stalk the chuckler.

Before long we had five or six bulls within 200-300 yards of us and they started bugling back and forth regularly. Around 5:00 they were bugling over and over and I just couldn’t take it anymore. On one hand I wanted to be patient and let a bull come in and wallow. On the other hand here were all of these bulls calling away, begging us to come and get ‘em! I finally couldn’t take it anymore. “Jon, when that chuckler calls again, cut him off.” A minute later he chuckled and Jon ripped a big bugle right over the top of his chuckling. He didn’t like this at all and he fired right back at Jon. The bull up the draw also joined in the fray. Not only did he join in the screaming, but he also moved in closer to the chuckling bull. They started screaming at each other and they were fired up. We waited a couple minutes to see how it would play out. Finally, I just couldn’t stand it anymore- my M.O. to be aggressive when elk hunting took over- I tried to be patient at the wallow, but the situation at hand seemed to beg for aggressive action on our part. I said, “Jon, if the chuckler chuckles, cut him off. If that bull bugles, cut him off. If you hear any bugle close at all, cut ‘em all off!” A minute later the bull to our left bulged and Jon hammered him with a rip roaring bugle of his own. He was coming closer and bugled back. Again Jon screamed over the top of his bugle. I grabbed my bow, sprinted up the hill, as I said to and unexpecting calling partner, “let’s go”. We headed straight at the bull on a dead sprint and we got at least 60 yards closer, putting us just above the top wallow. The bull bugled again and Jon hit him once again. I heard snapping and breaking of branches and at first thought the bull was tearing up a tree, but almost immediately I saw branches moving and the bull appeared. He was swaying his head back and forth as he walked forward thumping his hooves down into the ground with authority at each step. As he swayed his head left and right he rolled his eyes back in his head with every sway. He had looked ready to rumble, and he was coming in on a string! Just as his head passed behind a pine tree, I drew my bow. He took two more steps and stopped, looking for the challenger. I put my pin on his chest, guessed the distance at about 25 yards, and let my arrow fly! The arrow hit exactly where I aimed and the bull spun and sprinted back from the way he came. While he turned both Jon and I could see my arrow buried to the fletchings in his chest. He steamrolled through the blowdowns and conifers for a few seconds, but we heard him stop abruptly, and then a loud crash. This was followed by the sounds of his last breaths, which we could clearly hear from a distance of what we guess was about 50 yards.

Wow! That was exactly the kind of intense, chaotic, aggressive exchange that makes me love elk hunting! Jon had played it perfectly as the caller and I reaped the benefits of his work. We high fived, and had our little freak out session, and after 30 minutes we tracked the bull a short 40 yards from where I had hit him. It was getting later in the evening so we took our pictures, rolled up our sleeves, and got to work once again.

Here’s a picture of the lane I had to shoot through. The bull was just on the right edge of the pine tree and left of the tree with the rub on it, right where the wrist thick diagonal stick is located. I had a somewhat V shaped window about the size of a volleyball to shoot through.

We made a load that night, then another in the AM. After we got back to camp we plopped our butts in our camp chairs and soaked up the sun. The air was cool, but this was offset by the warm sun heating our sweat covered bodies. I was tired and sore and it felt so good to just sit at camp, share a couple celebratory beverages, and relax knowing that we had come back to WY and done it again. What a trip! What a great blessing it is to be able to come on a trip like this with a great friend and my brother.

And that’s how our trip came to a close. We packed up camp and headed home. With that, the sun set on another great elk hunting adventure.